


Five Months

by dduckiee



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dduckiee/pseuds/dduckiee
Summary: ‘Non sibi sed patriae, not self but country.’
Comments: 132
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the theme of death, if anyone finds this uncomfortable, I strongly suggest that you don't read this work.

It had become a familiar place, the bland off-white walls and the dark tiles. The various potted plants that were next to the oak chairs which lined the walls, the bright yellow cushions which always seemed to be in a different place, the low hum of the building had drifted into white noise, to him it was more a comfort than an irritation. It was the same routine, going to work, going to therapy once a week. It was a surprise, that he needed therapy, that he wanted to go, because he was a Navy Seal and they didn’t do therapy. They didn’t do feelings or talking, or stupid reflections about trauma and pain. He was meant to compartmentalise everything, store it away in a distant section of his brain, and just move on, keep going. Non sibi sed patriae, not self but country. 

The last door on the right slowly opened, revealing a middle-aged woman with curly brunette hair. She was smiling, like most days, like every day he came, the brightly-coloured orange dress complimenting her tanned skin. 

“Jason.” the woman called down the hall, her voice soft and calm. As the door moved, light reflected off the gold plaque, _“ Maria Velásquez, L.P.C”_.

“Maria.” came the short reply of Jason Hayes, hands running subconsciously across his jeans. 

Velásquez’s room was the same as the hall, off-white walls and dark tiles, accented in a bright yellow. Plants and pictures littered the remaining space. It was calming and too clinical at the same time, unnerving but Hayes was used to being in tense situations, it was part of his job description he supposed.

“Beautiful weather today.” Maria had seated herself in the chair closest to her desk as she waited for the man to sit. Hayes did so slowly, not nervously but more tired, exhausted even. 

“It’s fantastic.” 

Velásquez had noted, during their first few sessions, that small talk wasn’t part of Hayes’ vocabulary. 

Yet she continued, “now Jason, would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?”

“Got any whiskey?”

“Unfortunately not, but I can get you a coffee if you wish.”

“Black, no sugar.”

“I know.”

After Velásquez had returned, passed Jason a blue cup containing coffee and made herself comfortable again, she continued with their session, “where would you like to start?”

Hayes didn’t reply immediately, instead he scanned the room with his eyes, slowly processing the location, the environment, he was in.

“I should be fine now. It’s been five months and everything’s moved on.” His answer was blunt, straight to the point and didn’t contain any indication of emotion; Velásquez knew this was just a consequence of his military training, they weren’t the most conversational, those military men and women.

“I feel as though that is a question, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Now Jason, I can’t give you a time frame, that’s not something I or anyone else can do. Trauma isn’t linear, there may be a beginning but there isn’t a middle and end. You can’t just reset and move on.”

“I’m not trying to.” Hayes didn’t talk with his hands but he conveyed the same exhaustion, the same tiredness, without moving a muscle.

Velásquez crossed her ankles as she leaned forwards in her chair, hands clasped gently together. Hayes’ eyes tracked the movement, not suspiciously, just observant. It took a few minutes before he spoke again, “I know. But why can’t I just compartmentalise this, like everything else?”

“I can’t answer for you, but I understand that this situation was different.”

“I’ve lost men before, Maria.”

“Unfortunately you have,” she paused for a moment, “but he meant a lot to you, to the team.”

Hayes remained silent, he often got like this, trapped in his thoughts.

“Jason, I-”

“He was our brother, Maria. Our brother. I don’t want to forget him.” Sadness seeped through the cracks in Hayes’ sturdy exterior, he felt pain despite not always showing it. The military had trained him to persevere but he was still human, human enough to feel, to hurt. To want to stop and scream, and breakdown and not move. To cry for his brother, the ones he’s lost. 

“Dealing with your trauma doesn’t mean you will forget him, Jason.”

“Green team recruits have finished their training.” Hayes replied as if that statement answered everything, and it did, mostly. 

“I understand.”

“It’s easier for them, the cake-eaters, to just pick and move on. It’s easier for Blackburn, for Ellis, hell even Davis. They’re not the team, they’re not us.”

By the end of Hayes’ speech he was standing, broad shoulders, straight posture, threatening, angry. Velásquez knew this side of him well, it was the side she first met, so it no longer truly scared her. But even still, Hayes was a frightening man; especially when it came to his team, his family.

“Now Jason, why don’t you sit down again and we can talk things through?” Maria tried to de-escalate the situation.

“Thank you,” She said once he had, “why do you say it is easier for them?”

“Cake-eaters don’t care about the team, they care about the mission. They care about the HVTs and the target packages, they care about success rates and promotions-” Hayes paused but they both knew what he was going to say, _“they made us leave him behind”_ , _“we buried an empty coffin”_ , _“we failed him”_.

“Jason,” Velásquez slowly pulled her chair closer to the man sitting opposite, “why did you think that?”

“It’s easier to blame them, to be mad at someone.”

Velásquez hummed in agreement as Hayes continued, “it’s not complicated. We choose a recruit and we have a six-man team again. Problem solved,” he paused, hands running across his thighs, “but that would mean replacing him.”

“And this feeling, is it one you share with the other members of your team?”

“I don’t know. We all know it’s part of the job,” Hayes slumped in his chair, hands running through his hair as he adjusted the backwards cap. “I don’t want to forget him.”

“You and I both know that you won’t ever forget him. Selecting a new recruit is going to be difficult, uncomfortable, but that doesn’t mean you are rewriting over the past.”

Hayes once again remained silent as he processed Velásquez’s words. A small chime bell sounded from Velásquez’s phone at her desk, signalling the end of their session.

“Jason, if you need more time-”

“I’m fine, Maria. Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself, you know my number.” She said, placing a gentle hand on Jason’s arm as she couldn’t quite reach his shoulder comfortably when he was standing. He readjusted his cap before moving to leave the room. 

Once he had left, Velásquez returned to her desk. Waiting for her computer to load, she recalled the first few sessions she had had with the Navy Seal. It was a disaster. Hayes blatantly refused to answer any of her questions; it was if he believed the problem would go away if he ignored it. But the problem stayed and so did Hayes. Velásquez remembered the first time they had a genuine conversation, it was two days after the funeral. 

_Jason Hayes entered the room in a fury, rage burning all around him, inside him. His whole body felt like it was on fire. Velásquez rarely felt afraid of her clients, but she was wary of Hayes, he did have military training after all. But so did she, even though she hadn’t had the need to use it in many years._

_“Mr Hayes-”_

_“We buried an empty coffin, Velásquez. An empty coffin!” Hayes shouted at her, at the room, at anything and anyone that would listen._

_“Mr Hayes, please, we can talk things through but only if you sit down.” She had tried to de-escalate the situation, like what she had done today. It had worked. He sat down._

_“It’s not right. We should’ve gone back for him.”_

_“It was the decision of-”_

_“I know that! But he is our brother. Our brother. He deserves more than an empty coffin.”_

_“I understand your anger towards the decision-”_

_“You don’t understand anything.” He growled out, hands running across his thighs as he stared at her, their eyes locked together._

_“Would you tell me?”_

_Hayes slumped in his chair. This was the first time, Velásquez recalled, that she witnessed the other side of Hayes, the father, the brother, the friend._

_“We failed the mission. I failed the mission. I should’ve known the intel was bad, I should’ve told Ellis to wait until she had some more information before coming to us. We went in practically blind. But I told them to, I told him to. I told him to go check the room on the left-” Hayes paused to readjust his cap, “it’s my fault he went in that room.”_

_“Jason, you can’t blame yourself for this. Everyone, including him, knew that this was a risky mission. You had one shot. You couldn't have known the bomb was there. You didn’t have the dog-”_

_“Cerberus.”_

_“I apologise. You didn’t have Cerberus with you and there was no indication that the HVT knew any bomb-makers, it wasn’t that type of mission.”_

_“The bomb went off and we left. We left him.”_

_“You had orders from your commanders-”_

_Hayes slammed his hand on the armrest of the chair. The noise silenced the room for a moment._

_“I know!” He growled, “I fucking know. But he is dead because of me. Clay Spenser is dead because of me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire work is not beta-read, if there are any mistakes, please let me know. The next chapter is already written so the upload time shouldn't be too long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similarly to the last chapter, there are themes of death within this chapter. Again, if this makes anyone feel uncomfortable, I strongly suggest not reading this work.

It rained at the funeral. Sonny didn’t notice the rain, didn’t notice the cold, didn’t notice the umbrella Davis held above them, he didn’t notice much about the funeral. He was drunk, well more half drunk and half not really there. He had been in that state for the past week, ever since they got stateside, ever since they got back from the mission, ever since he lost his best friend. Instead, he watched as they lowered the empty coffin into the ground, he watched them pour dirt into the grave, he watched everyone around him. Shaking hands, hands drying wet eyes, heads on other’s shoulders. Quinn couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything, it was like he wasn’t really there. Just watching. Like he was dead himself, like everything had died when Clay did.

Losing his best friend, his brother, wasn’t painful. It was numbing. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, he couldn’t feel the warmth of Davis’ arm interlocked with his, couldn’t feel Ray’s hand on his shoulder. He just couldn’t. 

“Sonny.” Davis leaned into Quinn as she spoke, she had noticed the way he looked lost, scared and broken at the same time. 

“I can’t do this, Davis.” His voice was slow, the words slurred as they felt heavy on his tongue. It wasn’t because of the whiskey or the vodka or the cheap, shitty beer he had drunk. His throat felt too tight, too small, and everything else felt too big, too much. 

Davis clasped his arm tighter as Perry did the same with his shoulder, they tried to ground him. To get himself out of his head, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. None of them were alone. Quinn understood, he knew what they were trying to do, why they were doing what they were. They were feeling what he was feeling. He was  _ their _ brother,  _ their _ friend, too. 

Quinn coughed, throat still feeling too tight, “it’s unfair.” 

“I know.” Davis replied as she leaned her head against him, she didn’t care who saw, it didn’t matter, today wasn’t about them.

“I want my best friend back.”

“I know, Sonny, I know.” Her voice was soft, soft enough that he could barely hear. Sonny hadn’t realised how much he had needed Davis beside him. 

The pair didn’t speak again until everyone started moving towards the seats, the speeches were about to start. 

“Are you okay?” Davis asked, their arms no longer interlinked.

“For the speech.” She added when Quinn looked at her with a sour expression.

“I have to.”

“No you don’t-“

“Yes I do, Lisa!” He shouted, both arms flailing. Various people glanced back at them but none made a single comment. Davis figured that everyone was expecting someone to break, she didn’t realise until then that it was going to be one of the boys. They were trained for tough situations,  _ she _ was trained for tough situations. But it didn’t make the day any easier. It didn’t make burying their brother any easier. 

“I’m sorry.” Quinn grumbled. 

“It’s okay Sonny.” She replied at the same time Trent said “we’re all tense. It’s a rough day.”

Blackburn cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the small crowd. Davis and Quinn sat beside each other, Davis next to Reynolds and Quinn next to Sawyer. Next to Reynolds was Perry, then Hayes. Next to Sawyer was Ellis. Their families sat in the rows behind. 

“This never gets any easier. We all lost a friend, a colleague, a brother. And-“ Blackburn’s voice cracked with emotion, “and Clay Spenser was our brother. He was more than just a member of this team. He was the young, cocky, over-confident, brash kid who wormed his way into this team, into this family. It was an honour serving with him but it was also an honour knowing him. It was an honour having him beside us on our missions, in Jalalabad during our deployment, in Mexico. The first mission after Mexico was meant to be an easy one, I’ll be forever sorry that it wasn’t.”

Trent was right, Quinn thought, it is a rough day. 

Mandy Ellis was next to go, she stood slowly, unsteadily, no longer the confident, bad-ass CIA Agent. 

“I didn’t know Spenser that well. Didn’t know him nearly as well as the rest of the team. Maybe I should’ve, maybe I should’ve spoken to him more, drank with him more. I can’t-“ she paused to wipe the tears from her eyes, knuckles white as she clasped the paper in front of her, “I wish I could. He always spoke to me, on the plane, in the meeting room, in the middle of the halls. He was always telling me about random facts he had learned, things he thought it would be useful for me to know. He taught me some words in the languages he knew, just in case.” Ellis paused once again as there was a collective laugh, “like Blackburn said, it was an honour.”

Quinn didn’t know how they did it, sum up Clay’s life in a couple of sentences.

Trent was the next to talk, then Brock, Davis, Ray, and finally Jason. Quinn should’ve paid attention, should’ve listened, but he didn’t. All he could focus on was the kids face, right before they left the truck, before they entered the house, before he turned left. Before the bomb. Before he fucking died. Everyone said it was a miracle that everyone else survived, that there was only one casualty, one death. Quinn didn’t know how one death could be a miracle. 

Jason tapping him on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

“Time to go, Sonny.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know what he was going to say, what had already been said, what Clay would’ve wanted him to say. He wasn’t good at this whole talking thing. 

Quinn cleared his throat and just said the truth, “I don’t know what I’m meant to say.”

“That’s fine, brother.” Perry called out.

“Okay- uh. Okay. When I was trapped in the torpedo thingy, Clay was talking to me. The kid was trying to keep me from panicking too much,” Quinn let out a small laugh as he recalled the memory, “I told him, I told him that I didn’t regret any of it, becoming a Navy Seal, joining the teams. I meant it. He told me that he wasn’t so sure anymore but I said that joining the teams was the best thing that ever happened to me-” 

Quinn remembered almost dying.

_ They were on a Navy ship in the middle of North Korean waters, and he was stuck in a torpedo filling up with water. Fate sucked. Of all the ways he could go, he thought, drowning was his top second on the list of horrible ways to die, first being eaten by a shark. He wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, this wasn’t what he imagined. _

_ “How are you doing, Sonny?” came the low drawl of Clay Spenser, his voice was muffled from the water, from the static of the comms.  _

_ “Just peachy.”  _

_ There wasn’t any point in lying, they both knew what was going to happen. _

_ “Sonny?” _

_ “Yeah, Spense.” _

_ “You’re a great friend-” _

_ “Lookie here, blondie. None of this, okay. We’re not saying goodbye.” _

_ “I know. I just wanted you to know that.” Quinn could tell that he wanted to say more, that something was on his mind, from the way his voice sounded. It sounded weird. It sounded like a little kid who was so scared of losing someone, again. _

_ “Kid?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “You’re a good friend too.” _

Quinn didn’t remember anything after that, didn’t remember finishing his speech, didn’t remember drinking more beer, didn’t remember leaving. But the one thing he did remember, he remembered the empty chair where Ash Spenser should’ve been sitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: This work isn't set in chronological order! The first chapter was set five months after the event, the second chapter is set one week after the event.  
> Also, if there any grammar mistakes, please let me know. Thank you so much for your kind words on the last chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is up!

The house looked rich, pretentious even, with the gold and the marble, the stone statues and the antique furniture. The house felt like the very essence of what Ash Spenser stood for. Money and self-gain. It was intoxicating, suffocating. 

The two men stood in the hallway after being welcomed in by a maid. Reynolds stared at all the framed awards on display, the framed newspaper cuttings with the headline _“New York Bestseller Author Ash Spenser”_ , and the framed signature, his own signature. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sawyer doing the same. 

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that Reynolds and Sawyer were chosen to inform Spenser’s father. Hayes would’ve punched him, Perry would’ve punched him, Quinn would’ve killed him. Reynolds wasn’t sure what he would do, he still wasn’t sure, even standing in the hallway of Ash Spenser’s house. 

A door opened to the right of them, revealing a large study and the man they were looking for.

“Gentlemen- Oh. The uniform.” There was no concern, no sadness, no grief in his voice. He almost didn’t seem surprised that the two men were standing in his hallway.

“Mr Spenser, we’re sorry to inform you that your son was killed in action two days ago.” It sounded too professional, too structured, too robotic, even coming from Sawyer. But it was easier, Reynolds thought, to pretend. To pretend that this was about someone else. To pretend it wasn’t their brother that they had to bury. They had all lost someone before, to the war or stateside, but this felt different. They had lost the kid.

“How?” Ash Spenser’s monotone voice cut through Reynolds' thoughts, “how did he die?” he clarified when neither man answered.

The pair glanced quickly at each other before Sawyer spoke, “I’m sorry but we can’t disclose that information.”

“He’s my son.”

Sawyer attempted to explain, “it was his request not to provide you with the mission details but just to inform you of his passing.” 

“That son of a bitch!”

“Sorry sir, but I don’t think that’s very appropriate-“

“When did you get to decide what I can and can’t say in my own home?”

Reynolds and Sawyer both noted that the question was the first display of emotion Ash Spenser had shown them.

“I apologise if I have said something to offend you, sir, but-”

“You know what,” Ash Spenser turned to face Trent, eyes narrowed as if he was looking down on the Navy Seal, not that he physically could, “I’m not surprised he’s gotten himself killed-“

“Fuck you.”

Reynolds hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even thought about saying anything, he was the nice one, the quiet one, the one who shut up and did what he was told. But it was like an instinct, an instinct to defend his brother.

“I’m sorry?”

Reynolds had started something, he might as well finish it, “your son was a Navy Seal, a tier-one operator. He made Bravo Team. He was probably the best sniper we had, he was a good kid!”

“With a good heart.” Trent decided to join in. 

“Damn right he had a good heart. He was smart, resourceful-”

“Jumped off a 70ft oil rig!”

“Yeah! Yeah he did-”

“Enough!” Ash Spenser, throughout the two men’s unexpected rant about how _good_ his son was, had grown rather red in the face, “my son was never that good, he wasn’t tough enough. He wasn’t strong enough.”

Maybe everyone was wrong, about sending Reynolds and Sawyer. Sawyer wanted to punch him, punch him until he no longer moved, until no air passed through his lungs. He was a medic, that meant he knew how to save people, but he also knew how to hurt them too.

“Sir, with all due respect, you’re wrong.” Sawyer said with gritted teeth, anger, pure unleashed fury flowing throughout his body.

“I-“

“Sit down and listen. Your son will always be a better man than you. A better man, a better friend, a better Navy Seal. He would’ve been a better father, too, and a better husband.”

“Get out. This is harassment! If you don’t leave this instant I will call the police!”

“Do it. Actually stick to your word for once in your life!” Reynolds growled back.

The pair left the house quickly, not out of fear but because they would’ve killed the man inside if they had stayed. Once they were in the car, they turned to each other. Neither spoke immediately, both too wrapped up in their own thoughts to even try to speak. 

A few moments later, Sawyer spoke, “you okay?” he asked out of concern. Concern for Brock, the supposedly most level-headed one of the team, but also concern for himself. Neither one of them had meant to start a fight, but neither one of them were going to let Ash Spenser dirty the name of his son. 

“Honestly? No.” Reynolds sighed, head facing the window as the trees whipped past. The road was empty, it was a small back-road surrounded by trees on either side, so Sawyer could afford to glance at his friend in the passenger seat. Reynolds looked exhausted, angry and worried all at the same time. Reynolds looked how Sawyer felt.

It had only been two days, two days since they lost their kid, but both Reynolds and Sawyer felt like their whole world had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I am, genuinely, so thankful for everyone's kind comments and kudos. I can't believe that this work has already received over 800 hits! Thank you to everyone who has continued to read this work.  
> Again, if anyone spots any grammar mistakes, please let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy!

The most terrifying part of a nightmare, he thought, was being aware that it was a nightmare. He knew that he was trapped until his brain woke up, until he woke up. But he couldn’t wake up. So, he was trapped. It wasn’t a mild nightmare, either. It was about what happened five months ago, a painful moment in the past, a memory, he couldn’t forget. 

Perry was trapped in a nightmare about the day everything went horribly wrong. The day they lost their brother. 

_It was a warm morning, which wasn’t a surprise, they were in the desert. It made sense. But everyone still complained, mainly Quinn._

_“There is sand in places where it shouldn’t be.” Quinn moaned, pouring out sand from his boots. The rest of the team laughed at his complaining._

_It was a good morning, normal. A normal mission, a normal-_

_Sand. Perry was surrounded by sand, in his eyes, in his ears, in his mouth. All around him. He was on the ground, why was he on the ground?_

_White noise._

_Sand._

_There was too much sand._

_An explosion? A loud bang, then, well, this. He was on the ground. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, the sand tasted gritty. Perry could smell smoke, something was burning. Maybe it was already burnt. There was smoke, there must be fire. Was there fire?_

_It didn’t make sense. Why was there fire? Why was he on the ground?_

_He heard shouting, distant, could he hear again? The shouting was getting louder, they were right next to him._

_It was Jason. Why was Jason shouting? Jason was standing, but why was he on the ground?_

_It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t it make sense? It was a normal day, it was a normal mission. They were entering the house, the house, the-_

_He woke up in a hospital, it was all white and smelled sterile, he assumed it was a hospital. The curtains were closed, he couldn’t see anyone or anything else. Monitors beeped, he didn’t know if that was good or bad, he didn’t know. He didn’t know-_

_He woke up again. The curtains were open this time, Trent was there. He had a bandaged arm._

_“Broke it,” Sawyer said calmly, like it didn’t matter that much. Why didn’t it matter? Where was everyone else?_

_“They’re fine, they’re just resting.” Sawyer told him, as if he knew how much Perry was panicking._

_“They’re fine?” He heard himself ask._

_“Jason’s got a nasty cut on his arm and a sprained foot. Sonny has a concussion. Brock has bruised ribs. They’re mostly fine.”_

_Mostly fine. Mostly fine. Mostly fi-_

_Clay._

_“What happened Clay?”_

_Trent didn’t answer him, couldn’t look him in the eyes, just sat down in the chair by his bed, staring at the floor._

_Clay._

_What happened to Clay? What happened, what-_

_The doctors didn’t tell him when he asked. Brock didn’t, Sonny didn’t, Jason did. That made sense, Jason being the one to tell him. Tell him that there was a bomb in the room on the right, a small bomb. It wasn’t meant to kill everyone, wasn’t meant to take the whole building down. It was only meant for whoever was clearing that room._

_Clay._

_He was clearing that room. He was in that room, the room with the bomb, the bomb, the-_

Perry woke, startled, the sheets wrapped around his ankles. It wasn’t a surprise to find the bed empty, it wasn’t a surprise to wake in the middle of the night. It wasn’t a surprise anymore, it had been five months, he still had nightmares. They never made sense, probably because he couldn’t actually remember that day. The doctors said it was a concussion, he got hit on the head when the bomb went off. They said it was a miracle that there was only one death. How could you call that a miracle?

He lay there, too exhausted to move. The nightmares weren’t every night but were common enough to be frustrating. He always prayed, after a nightmare, not for himself, not for the nightmares to end, but for his brother. The brother they lost. It had been five months but he still prayed, every time, clinging onto hope. 

Hope, he thought, was a dangerous thing. But he needed hope, needed to pray, just in case. 

Naima entered the room slowly, holding two cups of chai.

“Naima-”

“It’s fine, I was barely asleep anyway.” Her voice was soft, it always was. Naima understood, she understood her husband’s pain, it was her pain too. That’s the funny thing about marriage, _everything_ is shared. But what is shared is halved. So, she didn’t mind.

“Thanks for the tea,” Perry started, shuffling around to make space for his wife, “it was a rough one.”

It was always a rough one, some seemed to last hours, others only minutes. Not that that mattered, it was painful either way.

“Talk to me.”

So he did. He told her about the sand, the sand that was everywhere, the muffled noise, the smoke, then Jason, Jason who was shouting something he couldn’t hear. He told her how confused he was, how he didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what had happened. Then he told her how angry he was, in the hospital, when he found out, when he found out that there was a bomb. A bomb that killed their brother. A bomb that killed Clay.

After her husband finished talking, Naima waited a few moments before speaking. 

“Have you spoken to the team about your nightmares?” She asked, taking small sips from her mug.

Perry did the same before answering, “Yeah. I phoned Jason yesterday, we spoke about his therapy sessions and my nightmares. Who knew,” he let out a small huff of air, “that we would become so talkative about our feelings.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Naima reminded her husband. It didn’t happen immediately, military men and women typically didn’t do the whole sit-down-and-talk-about-feelings routine, but once the boys gathered their brain cells together, they struggled less. A problem shared, she thought, is a problem halved.

“We also spoke about the green team, friday’s the deadline.”

“What did you say?”

“The truth. We need a six-man team.” Ray said quietly, as if he didn’t want to admit that out loud. Like it was a betrayal, like it was shameful. 

“Ray,” Naima turned to face her husband, hands clasping his, “I know you, I know that you don’t want to replace him. But, it needs to be said, it’s the logical thing to do. To move on, to keep moving on. He would want you to, Clay would want you to keep moving forwards.”

Perry looked at his wife and thought, she’s right. Of course, she’s right. Spenser would want us to move on, but something was telling him he _shouldn’t_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Davis' turn to lead the chapter! I really wanted to give Davis her own chapter, I feel like she is so underrated in the show.  
> Important: This chapter is much shorter as it is a filler chapter. However, things are going to start heating up...

The atmosphere in the room was tense, that wasn’t a surprise, it was friday. That was the worst thing, everyone knew it was the deadline. So, it made sense that the room was filled with raised voices, scattered paper, and too much caffeine. Davis watched as her boys argued amongst themselves, watched as Hayes slammed his fists down on the table, watched as Quinn sulked in the corner, refusing to even consider another Bravo Six. It wasn’t fair, she thought as she poured herself another cup of coffee, it wasn’t fair to make them choose a replacement. That’s what it was, a replacement, at the end of the day; no amount of fancy words could ever disguise that fact.

“There any left?” Perry asked to her right, he was holding an empty green cup in both hands, fingers slowly tapping the sides of the ceramic. 

“A little,” she answered, pouring the remainder of the coffee into his cup, “how are you holding up?” 

It was a stupid question, she knew that, Perry knew that too, but she asked anyway. Half out of sympathy, half out a sense of obligation. These were her boys, she had to look after them.

“I think you should ask Sonny.” Perry looked her in the eye before walking to where Hayes and Blackburn were standing. 

He was right, she should ask Sonny, but she already had that morning over breakfast in her apartment. It wasn’t a new thing, Sonny staying over, one that had happened shortly after the funeral five months ago. It was because of Clay, she mused, of course it was because of Clay.

_ “Hey Davis!” Spenser’s voice called from the doorway to the cages, Davis glanced up from where she was standing, surrounded by all the boy’s equipment for the mission. _

_ “Missing anything Clay?” She teased, he just chuckled but entered the room anyway. _

_ “I- uh.” Spenser’s voice trailed off like he didn’t know what he was going to say. Davis once again glanced towards him, noticing the way he nervously ran his fingers through his hair.  _

_ “What’s wrong?” _

_ “I know about you and Sonny,” He blurted out, “which is fine. Honestly. It's fine. Just don’t- just don’t waste it, alright. Don’t be so afraid of what other people are going to say that you give up on him.” _

_ And with that, he was gone, out of the room, the door had already closed by the time Davis fully realised what Clay had said.  _

Hayes cleared his throat, bringing Davis out of her thoughts, he was standing by the projector, which displayed five photos. Five photos, five recruits, one of them was going to be his replacement, Clay’s replacement. She could barely look at the photos, she knew she wasn’t the only one, both Brock and Trent found sudden interest in their phones, Sonny turned his chair to face the opposite way.

Hayes cleared his throat again before speaking, “we have a call to make, we should make the right one.”

He was right, of course Hayes was right. It was their job, she thought, they all knew the risks. Clay knew the risks when he enlisted.

“He would want us to choose someone we can trust.” Sonny mumbled, turning his chair back around, his posture was slouched but he had a look of determination in his eye.

“Damn right, brother.” Perry called out, sipping his now luke-warm coffee.

“He would want us to choose someone who is as mad as us.” Reynolds huffed out a laugh, Cerberus barked in agreement. That sent a wave of laughter around the room.

“He would want us to move on,” Hayes called out to the room, “let's make him proud.”

There was a unanimous sense of agreement and commitment that followed Hayes’ statement, Hayes and Perry picked up the first file whilst Reynolds and Sawyer chose the second and third, respectively. Quinn picked up the fourth whilst handing the fifth to her. This didn’t mean that they were forgetting him, she thought, they were honouring him by continuing. Continuing to serve and protect, continuing to bring justice, continuing to be a team. Continuing to be Bravo. They weren’t replacing him, they were making his death mean something.

_ He would want us to move on _ , she thought, before opening the file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems like Bravo team is finally moving on... The next chapter will answer all your questions, well, most of them anyway, the important ones at least.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some answers! Enjoy!  
> Important: This chapter contains some Russian words, the translation will be at the end of the chapter, however, I am not Russian nor do I speak the language. If I have included anything incorrect, please tell me!

The hardest part about the job wasn’t being surrounded by bad people, it wasn’t the manipulating or the lying. The hardest part of the job, she thought, was handing over the target package. There were always what-ifs, what if she didn’t have the right information, what if she didn’t have enough information, what if she was wrong and people died because of her. Men and women did die because of her, have died because of her. Spenser was one of them, one of the many lives she had indirectly ended. So, the hardest part of the job will always be handing over the target package, because if she is wrong then people will die. That will be on her. But that’s her job, Ellis knew that her job came with consequences, being a CIA Agent wasn’t and will never be easy. She wasn’t looking for an easy job, she was looking to make a difference. To try and make a difference.

Ellis glanced down at the file in her hands, a thick manilla-coloured folder containing various photos, dates, and information pertaining to a Russian national named Vlasi Kozlov. The man in question sat opposite her, hands chained to a metal bar bolted to the table; Kozlov was an average-looking, middle-aged man, he had a neatly trimmed beard with greying hair. It made the job harder, she thought, when they looked like normal people. If Ellis passed this man on the street, she wouldn’t have glanced towards him, wouldn’t have known. But when he spoke, when Kozlov spoke, Ellis could tell what kind of man he was.

“I suppose,” he said in a thick Russian accent, “you know all about me. About what I have supposedly done.”

“Yes, I do. You have dual citizenship, in Russia and Turkmenistan. It’s in the latter where you work as a human-trafficker. You take women and children, even men, and smuggle them into Russia, for them to then be sold to neighbouring countries.”

He laughed, it was a deep, hearty laugh, like other’s pain was his entertainment. It was, she supposed.

“No. You know nothing about me-”

“I know you’ve been married three times, divorced twice. You have two daughters, Selena and Nastya.” Ellis pulled two photos out from the file and placed them on the table. The man opposite her didn’t react, he was used to being threatened, used to being interrogated. But he hadn’t met Ellis before.

“You’ve done your research, _дорогой_.”

Ellis ignored the taunting and pulled out another photo, it showed encrypted emails between Kozlov and a Turkmenistan national named Majid Samara.

“This is an invasion of privacy. You don’t want another cold war, do you?” Kozlov growled, hands slamming on the metal table. Ellis just smiled, for someone who tough, she thought, it wasn’t that difficult to anger him.

“We were investigating Samara as we believed he had connections to a terrorist organisation in Ashgabat. It was pure luck,” Ellis paused for greater emphasis, “that we found your emails.”

Ellis opened the file once again and pulled out a wad of paper.

“This is a list of all Samara’s known associates. It was quite easy to track them down, most started speaking straight away. It took others a while but in the end, they all spoke,” Ellis flipped through the pages before pausing on the fourth page, “Yury Mikhailov. He’s your left-hand man. Do you want to know what he said?”

Kozlov didn’t say a word, instead, he spat onto the table. 

“That’s a shame,” Ellis said calmly, “he was able to make a very good deal. A deal you won’t be offered. See, Kozlov, my assets and your men have proven that you have trafficked American citizens into Russia. I don’t think you’re going to see daylight for a very long time.”

Kozlov continued to remain silent, he clasped his hands together and leant backwards in his chair. He almost looked relaxed, content.

“I don’t think you understand. These are serious charges, if you want to see your daughters again, I think you should consider talking.”

“You can’t threaten me.”

“I’m not making threats, I’m making promises,” Ellis warned the man, “we have significant evidence which ties both your daughters to your human-trafficking rings in Ashgabat and Yekaterinburg. If you won’t talk, maybe they will?”

“You leave my daughters alone, _сука_!” Kozlov snapped, eyes burning into hers as he was fuelled by rage, “tell your people to leave them alone!”

“I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. You see, I need information. If you won’t talk, they will have to.” Ellis warned the man once again. 

“What do you want?” Kozlov growled out, eyes still glaring into hers.

“Everything.”

The man opposite her just laughed, “you want everything? I’m no snitch.”

Ellis moved the photos of his two daughters closer towards Kozlov, she didn’t normally use family as threats but the two women weren’t exactly innocent.

“You said Mikhailov made a deal.”

“I did.”

“If I tell you,” Kozlov paused, a small smile creeping onto his face, “if I tell you something so important, will you consider a deal?”

“It depends on what the information is.”

It wasn’t going to be important, she thought, it was probably false. Men like Kozlov never tell the truth. But she decided to entertain the idea and allowed him to continue.

The small smile transformed into a full-blown grin, “I have an American in my possession. Do you want them back?”

“I’m sorry” Ellis maintained her calm appearance, “but you’re going to have to tell me more than that.”

“It is not a regular American, no, it is an important American,” Kozlov paused for dramatic effect, “I have an American soldier. Is that good enough for a deal?”

Ellis knew he was lying, “no American soldiers have been reported missing. Stop wasting my time.”

She was about to stand up and leave when Kozlov spoke again, “then tell me why he was delivered to me wearing American military uniform? Tell me why he had a symbol of the American flag on his chest? Tell me why he spoke with an American accent?”

Ellis didn’t know if he was lying, she thought she knew, she thought she had Kozlov all figured out, she thought she was good at her job. How had she not known?

“Was there a name? An identifying badge? Anything credible that you can tell me.” Ellis rarely raised her voice when interrogating criminals, drug lords and the worst kinds of people to walk the Earth. But this had taken her by surprise. She needed the information fast, otherwise, it wouldn’t matter if Kozlov was telling the truth or not, the soldier would most likely be killed when Kozlov’s associates found out he was captured.

“There was a name but I do not remember,” Kozlov paused, like he was thinking, “there was a badge. A wolf. No, a dog? I do not know. It had a stick above behind its head, like a fork but only three points.”

“Like this?” Ellis presented a picture from her phone to the man, he nodded in agreement.

Ellis didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. The photo, the photo of the military insignia, was Bravo’s insignia. 

Bravo, she thought, oh god, Bravo. What was she meant to tell them? That they failed, that they failed their brother. They followed orders which saved their own skin but they left him behind. They left Clay behind, which meant he was captured and held as a prisoner for five months. Five months.

It had only been two days, two days since Bravo had chosen their Green team recruit, had chosen their next Bravo Six. It had been two days since everyone, including herself, had gone to a bar and had celebrated the life of the brother they lost. It had been two days since Quinn had cleared Spenser’s cage, he had removed all the equipment, the clothing, the various books and everything that made the cage Spenser’s.

So, what the hell was she going to tell them? That their brother was still alive?

_Clay Spenser was alive._

“Oh, so you do know the American!” Kozlov’s gruff voice cut through her thoughts.

Before she could leave, before the door had closed fully, Kozlov called out one final message, “he was a very pretty blonde.”

_дорогой = darling_

_сука = bitch_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Ellis knows the truth, what is she going to tell Bravo?  
> I know this is the chapter everyone has been waiting for, the confirmation that Clay is very much alive. It was a lot of fun writing it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bravo team finds out...

It was meant to be Bravo team’s day off, it was a sunday. Emma had been begging for him to take her to the new Mexican restaurant, Hayes mused, Mikey also wanted to go so he had booked a table the night before. After his wife’s death, after Alanna’s death, Hayes knew he needed to be a better parent, a better father, he knew he needed to be someone his children could rely on. This meant spending time with his children, taking them to nice places and out for dinner, it also meant listening to what they had to say, listening to their opinions, the random stuff they found interesting. Hayes had expected the day to be a normal day, a normal sunday where he could spend time playing video games with his son or watching his daughter practice her college performance. It was meant to be a normal sunday, but when his phone pinged at 0700 hours that morning, he knew that it wasn’t going to be.

His children would understand, he knew that his mother would take Mikey to his hockey practice and Emma would take Mikey out to lunch at the new restaurant. Their life would continue as normal, even if their dad was around. Which was why he was prepared to question Blackburn’s reasoning for calling in Bravo team instead of Alpha. Except, when he entered the military base’s mission room, Hayes noticed that there were far more military personnel loitering around than normal. 

“Master Chief Hayes,” Captain Harrington acknowledged the final member of Bravo team’s entrance into the room, “I appreciate all of you being here today. But the information we are about to tell you is of grave importance.”

Hayes glanced to his left, where he locked eyes with Perry. Through silent communication, gained from working together for years, they both understood that this was not an ordinary mission. Hayes continued to look around the room, he noted that all his men were present, as well as Davis, Mandy Ellis and her CIA supervisor, Oliver Carter.

“The information that we are going to tell you that can't, under any circumstance, leave this room.” Harrington waited for the team’s response before motioning for Carter to continue.

“Yesterday the CIA conducted a routine interrogation of a man named Vlasi Kozlov,” Carter paused to display the man’s photo on the projector, “however from this interrogation, we have gained highly valuable and time-sensitive information which requires your co-operation.”

Hayes wasn’t surprised, the whole team was expecting the mission to be sensitive. However, none of them were expecting the next words to be said.

“Five months ago,” Carter continued, “Bravo team was sent on a mission to capture Mukhtar Karim-”

“Woah, now lookie here mister, what the hell are you doing bringing that up?” Quinn immediately started protesting, there was a silent agreement between Bravo team that they wouldn’t mention the mission, that mission.

“Sonny.” Perry tried to quieten the man sitting on his left.

“Ellis.” Hayes directed his attention to the woman standing opposite him. Whilst they failed to bring Spenser home, they didn’t fail the mission. They captured Karim, they got the son of a bitch. He’s sitting in a cell for the rest of his life, Hayes was damn sure of that.

“Karim is in prison,” Ellis clarified and turned to type something into the computer, a series of photos of various men and email correspondences appeared on the projector screen, “where he was able to inform us on another smaller terrorist organisation in Ashgabat,” she pointed at two of the men on the screen, “Majid Samara and Yury Mikhailov. From these two men, we were able to capture Vlasi Kozlov-”

“If you have Kozlov, why do you need us?” Sawyer asked the question the whole team was thinking.

“Because this is a rescue mission,” Ellis explained, avoiding eye contact, “Kozlov is a high-profile human trafficker with connections to Ashgabat and Yekaterinburg. He is known to traffic Americans.”

“Your mission,” Carter continued, “is to rescue an American who is currently located in Kozlov’s Ashgabat warehouse. It is imperative that we act quickly, if Kozlov’s men realise their leader has been captured they will most likely execute everyone in their possession so that they don’t get tied to the organisation.”

“Who are we rescuing?” Hayes asked, it was a basic question but one that everyone seemed to be avoiding. 

“Who the hell are we rescuing?” Perry added when Hayes' question went unanswered, he was supported by various murmurs from the rest of the team. 

If Hayes was a less experienced Navy Seal, he might not have directly questioned those with higher ranks, but he wasn’t, so he did.

“My team is not being sent on a rescue mission without all the facts. I’m not letting another one of my men die because of fucking limited intel!”

“Quite finished, Hayes?” Captain Harrington responded, unimpressed with the theatrics.

“No, you listen here,” Hayes growled, Perry placed a hand on his shoulder, it didn’t calm Hayes down but it was a nice sentiment, “I’m not going to lose another brother.”

“What you fail to understand, Master Chief Hayes, is that they are not your men. They are US Navy Seals. As your Captain, I dictate their behaviour.” Harrington commanded, the whole room quietened as the two men battled for dominance.

“Captain Harrington, wouldn’t it be in the mission’s best interest to inform Bravo team of the identity of the American. That way the chance of mistakes lessens.” Blackburn tried to reason, he knew the team appreciated having someone of their side.

“Once this mission briefing has been concluded, you may inform Bravo.” Harrington directed his reply towards Blackburn before proceeding to explain the mission's logistics.

Hayes paid little attention, he should’ve but he didn’t. Something wasn’t right, that horrible feeling settled at the bottom of his gut. In the military, men and women are trained to rely on that gut feeling, rely on their instincts, they are trained to always keep count of how many bullets, where their team is, where the enemy is. A consequence of this training is being hyper-aware of everything, the way people speak, their body language, the person eight metres away who seems to be fairly normal but might not be. At the end of the day, every unknown is viewed as a target, as the enemy. In this case, it was the unknown American who got themselves captured by a human-trafficker. That damn American seemed to be so important but so unnoticeable, Hayes thought, the CIA wasn’t looking for a missing American, that was just some information they managed to gain, information that gained by chance, by mistake. Logically, that could mean two things: one, they didn’t know anyone was taken or two, it was someone who was taken a long time ago. Hayes didn’t know which was worse, being unnoticeable or being forgotten.

Military personnel, including Captain Harrington and Oliver Carter, leaving the room brought him out of his thoughts, it wasn’t a surprise to him that the mission briefing had ended and he didn’t know what had been said. All that mattered was the truth, the answer to his question. It was one damn question.

“Blackburn,” Davis was the first to speak, “what is going on?” 

“I’ll let Mandy explain.”

“It has been confirmed,” Ellis looked unsure of how to start, how to tell Bravo the truth, “it has been confirmed that the American, who is being held captive, is part of the US military-“ Her statement was met with various responses, the majority included explicit language. 

“There aren’t any missing soldiers.” Reynolds said, brows furrowed. It could be either option, Hayes thought, unnoticeable or forgotten.

“It’s not, it’s not a soldier. The American has been identified as wearing the insignia-“ Ellis struggled to finish the sentence, “the insignia of Bravo.”

There was only one person that American soldier could be.

Only one.

They all knew who it was.

Who it had to be.

“Spenser.” Quinn breathed out the name of his dead best friend, hands clenching the table as he rose from his chair.

In the end, it wasn’t either option, Hayes thought, because Clay was neither unnoticeable or forgotten. The kid had wormed his way into their eclectic family, he was like the final piece of the puzzle.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” Ellis apologised, tears welling in her eyes. Watching the normally stoic CIA Agent break down was unsettling, like the whole world had shifted. It had been doing that a lot, the past five months.

“It not your fault Mandy.” Sawyer spoke, voice shaky.

“But it is, isn’t it,” Ellis sighed, perching herself on the table, “the intel I gave you was bad, I didn’t- I didn’t know.”

That was the worst thing about this, Hayes knew, the worst thing was that none of them knew. None of them knew that there was a bomb, knew that he survived, knew that he was captured, none of them knew anything.

None of them knew.

None of them knew for five fucking months.

“We shouldn’t have left!” Quinn cried, angrily throwing his phone across the room, it landed somewhere with a loud crash. Reynolds and Sawyer, the two closest to the man, quickly tried to calm their brother down. Quinn allowed himself to be lowered into a chair, before hanging his head and sobbing into the shoulder of Reynolds.

“I know, brother, I know.” Reynolds rubbed the back of distraught Quinn.

It wasn’t just Ellis and Sonny that broke down, it was the whole team. Blackburn and Sawyer shared quiet words with blurry eyes, whilst Perry, hands clasped together, prayed for his brother’s safety, tears freely flowing. Davis and Ellis had moved to where Reynolds and Quinn were sat, the four of them huddled together, emotions unhidden. Hayes stroked Cerberus’ soft coat, the hair missile placed a paw on his knee, the dog knew. The dog knew that it was what he needed. He was a good dog, he was a damn good dog.

They stayed like this for what seemed like hours, it was most likely only a couple of minutes, before Quinn spoke, “he’s really alive?”

“Yeah,” Ellis replied, “he is.”

“We left him behind. We saved our own skin and left blondie behind.” Quinn spoke softly, voice barely audible.

“I know, brother,” Perry said, “but now we have the chance to bring him home.”

“Not unnoticeable or forgotten,” Hayes said, the rest of the team looked at him confused so he clarified, “Clay isn’t unnoticeable, the kid made damn sure of that, and he isn’t forgotten either. He’s probably thinking that right now but he’s wrong. Not once in five months did we forget our Bravo Six. Not once in five months did we forget Clay Spenser.”

“Damn right!” came the chorus of replies from Perry, Quinn, Sawyer and Reynolds. Cerberus barked in agreement.

“So,” Hayes continued, “we are going to bring that little shit home and never let him out of our sights.”

There was a wave of laughter that echoed around the room, it seemed to lift the building tension slightly because they knew, they knew that they were going to bring Spenser home. Not in a pine box but alive and breathing. 

Spenser was finally getting what he deserved. A rescue mission. Despite being five months too late, Hayes mused, the kid was coming home.

Our boy was coming home.

“When are we spinning up?” Sawyer said, breaking the silence.

Blackburn checked his watch before answering, “an hour.”

It was going to be the longest hour of their life, Hayes thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to write this chapter since I first started this work! It was so much fun including everyone in the same chapter. But most importantly Cerberus, the best character on the show, makes his second appearance!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: This chapter contains Russian, I'm not Russian nor do I speak the language. I have tried to check if the sentences make sense but I have only limited knowledge. If you spot any mistakes or have any comments, please let me know!  
> Also, this chapter if from a certain character's point of view. Hopefully, you enjoy it...

_Quinn wouldn’t stop complaining, there was sand, there was sand everywhere. There was sand in his boots. There was so much sand-_

_He was on the ground, ears ringing, head pounding. He could feel the sand, in his eyes, in his mouth, all around him._

_He was on the ground. Why was he on the ground?_

_Everything hurt, he could feel something pinning down his legs, could feel blood dripping down his face, could feel his hands shaking, could feel his body gasping for air._

_He could smell smoke, it was thick._

_He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-_

_When he woke, there was shouting. It sounded distorted, he could barely hear anything, the ringing in his ears was too loud. He tried shouting back but no sound came out, his lungs burned and his throat tightened. He couldn’t speak._

_Please, his mind cried, please help me. Help me. Help-_

He woke up quickly, startled from the nightmare. In a horrible way, Spenser thought, it never felt like he was actually waking up. They didn’t find him, his team didn’t find him. The enemy did. The rusted metal bars, the dust-covered windows, the silent guards, the scared faces of other prisoners, the cold metal flooring. All of it was a reminder that his team didn’t find him. No, he was taken by men who spoke an unfamiliar language who handed him over to men who spoke Russian, he was handed over like a product that someone could buy. That’s probably what he was, he supposed, eventually, he’ll be sold to the highest bidder. Then tortured for information, because they knew, when they found him they knew that he was American. They knew that he was American military. He was worth a lot of money, but some were willing to pay the price.

He wasn’t afraid to die, not anymore. He knew that he was going to die, at the hands of radicals or criminals, he knew that he was going to die a prisoner. That was a fact, he couldn’t change that, couldn’t overpower the guards, couldn’t escape. He had made his peace with that. He was going to die and he knew, deep down, that everyone already thought he was dead, he had overheard some of the guards laughing about it.

_“Мы слышали, как взорвалась бомба.” One of the men laughed, the other guards found similar amusement in the man’s statement._

_The guard on the left glanced towards Spenser’s cage, “дурак несчастный”_

_He wanted to scream at them, beg them to tell him more. Tell him if anyone else survived._

_Brock was right behind him. If he survived, if he survived the bomb blast, then maybe his team did too._

_“Пожалуйста,” Spenser begged, his voice breaking, “мои братья.”_

_“Эй ты,” the closest guard hit the cage with the end of his shotgun, “заткнйсь!”_

So, in the end, he wasn’t afraid to die. It didn’t matter what happened to him, they weren’t coming to find him, that was also a fact. There was a bomb in the room, in the room he entered, the maths was simple. He hoped, he just hoped that the rest of his team made it out alive. Brock was right behind him, then Quinn. Jason, Ray and Trent were clearing the room to the left. Brock was right behind him. They needed to be alive, Spenser needed them to be alive. They didn’t deserve to die like that, to die due to bad intel and a home-made, frankly useless bomb. He was alive and he was right next to the damn thing. So, no, they have to be alive.

Hope is a dangerous thing, Spenser thought, false hope is worse. But it is the only thing that is keeping him sane. He can picture back home, stateside in Virginia. Everyone is in Jason’s garden, Quinn is barbequing alone because he doesn’t trust anyone else, he’s secretly sneaking Cerb small pieces of meat without Brock noticing. Brock is too busy playing hockey with Mikey, they’re teamed against Davis and Jameelah. The girls are winning. Jason, Ray and Trent are standing drinking, watching everyone else run around. Stood beside them is Blackburn, Amie and Sara. Amie is Brock’s wife, she makes amazing bread, she owns a bakery. Sara is Trent’s girlfriend, he had only met her once but they spoke about Liberia, she was born there. Naima is sitting at the table, baby RJ in her arms, she’s talking to Ellis. They’re laughing about something, anything. They’re happy, Spenser thought, they’re all happy. Spenser could die peacefully knowing that.

False hope be damned, the rest of them made it.  _ They made it.  _ So, Spenser didn’t care about what happened to him, didn’t care that he was a prisoner locked in a metal cage, didn’t care that he could be sold to people who wanted him dead. He didn’t care as long as his team was safe.

_Мы слышали, как взорвалась бомба_ = We heard the bomb go off

 _дурак несчастный_ = unlucky idiot

 _Пожалуйста… мои братья_ = Please… my brothers

 _Эй ты… заткнйсь_ = Hey you… shut up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the total chapter number to 12, instead of 10, as it seemed to work better with the pacing of this work. That also means 2 extra chapters!  
> As always, please let me know how you felt about this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to post, it was my birthday earlier this week and I wasn’t happy with how the chapter was flowing. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do. So, here it is!

It was a straightforward rescue mission, one that Bravo team intended to complete, they were going to bring the kid home, alive and breathing. The plan, memorised by every team member, had been checked and double-checked a multitude of times. This time, this time the intel was faultless; Karim, Mikhailov and Kozlov, all of them talked. The warehouse was one klick outside the 8th micro-district in Ashgabat, due to foreign policy agreements Bravo team will land at Ashgabat International Airport under the guise of needing refuelling, this allows the team to travel from the airport to the warehouse in under 20 mikes. They breach the warehouse, collect the kid, return to the airport and they’re back stateside in under 27 hours. The plan was simple.

“HAVOC, passing _Blondie_.” Hayes spoke into his radio. The markers, he mused, were all the nicknames they used for Spenser, Quinn had provided the majority of them, that wasn’t a surprise.

“Good copy.” Blackburn’s voice crackled over the radio.

Bravo was two mikes out from the warehouse, Hayes glanced around at his team, noticing the building tension between them. Perry was sitting in the driver’s seat, since he was a good friend Hayes wasn’t going to mention that his driving was more reckless than usual. Sawyer was sitting in the passenger seat, multiple medical bags on his lap, Davis had managed to find him almost every medical equipment he could possibly need. Quinn sat next to him, hands fiddling with his lucky cap, he had brought it with, Hayes couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. When he had asked the burly Texan to keep an eye out for their rookie, he hadn’t expected the pair to become such close friends. It was good for both of them, he thought, both Sonny and Clay had become more balanced and better operators because of it. The team really was all the family that they needed. Reynolds sat behind Quinn and him, Cerberus laying down on the seat next to him, tongue hanging out his mouth as he panted due to the warm air. They were all impatient, he could tell, he was feeling the same way.

They needed to find their kid, fast.

“HAVOC passing _GQ_.” Hayes voiced into his radio as the van pulled up to the warehouse. Everyone knew their positions, the warehouse had three possible entrances: one front door, one back door, and one emergency-exit door at the left side of the building. Perry and Sawyer moved to enter from the rear, Reynolds and Quinn were tasked with breaching from the side, Hayes would enter from the front.

Once they exited the van, Hayes moved to the front of the warehouse, luckily there weren’t any tangos guarding the outside which meant that the team still had the element of surprise, coupled with the darkness of the night, there was no reason for this mission to go wrong. Turning on his NOD, he waited for the signal from Reynolds and Quinn, due to their door being an emergency exit it had to be breached with explosives. There was some debate, back on the plane, about leaving the side door and only entering from the two remaining doors. However, as Perry pointed out, three doors were better than two. It also gave the team three possible exits.

“Bravo Five to all call signs, breach in position.” Brock’s voice could be heard on the radio. It was time.

“Execute, execute, execute.” Hayes commanded into his radio, a distant bang could be heard.

He entered the warehouse, two tangos immediately started firing but they were quickly put down. To his right was a large office building, there weren’t any windows from the inside which meant he had to enter carefully. Pushing the office door open slightly, Hayes entered with his gun raised. Inside was fairly organised, a large desk littered with paper and a computer. Ellis had asked that Bravo should aim to also obtain any documents pertaining to the human-trafficking organisation. Thankfully the office was empty, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time, he could hear the gunfire from down the passageway. It was a fight that he needed to join, his brother’s lives depended on it, all five of them. Grabbing whatever he could find, he cautiously made his way down the passageway. Before he could enter the main section of the warehouse, three more tangos rounded the corner, one had a blood-stained shirt but was weaponless, the other two held automatic rifles. It was obvious that they were trying to exit through the front door. Hayes quickly took down the two weapon-bearing tangos, however, the third decided to take a chance and rammed himself into Hayes. His weapon knocked from his grasp, the gun-fight turned into hand-to-hand combat. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult to take the tango down, he was already injured.

The appearance of the three tangos trying to escape had delayed Hayes from reaching the main section of the warehouse. When he finally reached it, there was already plenty of bloodshed.

“Bravo One to Bravo Two, sitrep.”

“We’re blocked by six tangos.”

This mission wasn’t going to plan. It should’ve taken Bravo under five minutes to breach, find their brother, and get out. It had already taken them seven. Hayes positioned himself behind storage crates, back exposed to the passage he had just come from. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Reynolds and Quinn had positioned themselves behind the supporting pillars of the warehouse. He also noticed seven dead men laying on the floor, blood seeping from their motionless bodies. The five he had taken out, plus the nine in the main section and six blocking Perry and Sawyer, made eighteen tangos in total. That was excluding the eight currently firing at the team. The number wasn’t a surprise, it was a large organisation and Kozlov had been in US custody for three days already, it made sense the warehouse was heavily guarded, however, ISR had confirmed twenty tangos to be in the warehouse.

There were two missing.

Fuck.

“Bravo Two to all Bravo call signs, is there any way of providing me cover?”

Without the presence of Hayes, neither Reynolds nor Quinn could leave their position to come to the aid of Perry and Sawyer, however now that Hayes could provide cover, Reynolds spoke into his radio, “Bravo Five to Bravo Two, coming your way.”

Hayes quickly spotted Reynolds and Cerberus trying to maneuver themselves towards the back of the building, towards the dispatch bays, towards Perry. He also noticed two tangos spotting the moving figures, however, they were easily taken out by Quinn’s gun.

“Got your back, brother.” Quinn’s gruff voice could be heard over the radio.

Two down, six to go.

It was too dangerous for Hayes to try and move from his position, three tangos were currently firing in his direction. It was inevitable that someone had called for backup. His team would be trapped in the warehouse if they didn’t move faster. Time was running out. Eleven minutes. They had been in the warehouse for eleven minutes.

Hayes tried to aim for the eight remaining tangos but his bullets didn’t meet their targets. It was dangerous, firing across the warehouse, cages full of women and children were in the crossfire. Their kid was somewhere, trapped in one of those cages, with no protection. Stuck in the middle of the crossfire. Bravo was used to risking their lives, it was part of their job, but this situation was different. It wasn’t just their lives that could be taken out by a bullet, it was the lives of the innocent women and children too. Thankfully, as far as Hayes could see, none of them had been shot. But, that could easily change.

Momentarily, the lack of gunfire from the dispatch bays caught the attention of the rest of Bravo. However, the gunfire quickly resumed, although it sounded a lot closer. Four of the six tangos in the main section fell to the ground in quick succession, the remaining two started firing to their left but were both shot down. Perry, Sawyer and Reynolds, with a growling Cerberus, appeared from the dispatch’s entrance.

All eight tangos were down.

There was still the problem of the missing two.

“HAVOC, can you confirm the number of tangos.” Hayes voiced into his radio whilst he, and the rest of Bravo, searched the cages.

“Twenty prior to your entrance.”

“There were only eighteen.”

The radio was silent for a moment before Blackburn responded, “Davis is checking the ISR footage.”

“Boss, we have another problem,” Perry tapped Hayes on the shoulder, drawing his attention to where Cerberus was circling one of the cages.

“Shit.”

The cage was empty. Correction, sixteen cages were empty. That explained the two missing tangos.

“They must’ve panicked and started trying to move their operation elsewhere.” Perry sounded reasonably calm, but Hayes noticed the worried look in his eyes.

Their boy wasn’t here.

Cerberus continued to whine at the cage, trying to paw open the cage.

“Bravo, be advised, ISR footage shows two tangos leaving the warehouse two mikes before your arrival. They exited in two vans with heat signatures showing eighteen in total.”

That was fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes.

“Do you have a location on the two vans?” Hayes tried to keep his voice level, but his voice was thick with frustration.

“Affirmative, one klick south of the warehouse.”

Hayes turned to his team, “heads on a swivel boys, we’re going to get our kid.”

Bravo quickly exited the warehouse from the dispatch entrance, Reynolds was running point with Cerberus, Hayes right behind them, followed by Sawyer, Quinn and Perry. The dog pulled at his leash, he had a strong scent.

When the group of five, and one dog, reached the two stationary vans, Hayes radioed in, “HAVOC, passing _Bambi_.”

“Good copy.”

The gunfire started as soon as the team got close enough to the vans, the two final tangos were easily put down. One had been smoking, the cigarette was still burning when Cerberus had growled, alerting the whole team that he had it handled. The other was sitting in the driver’s seat of the first van, he didn’t have the chance to react before a bullet was put between his eyes.

Reynolds and Perry made quick work of breaking the metal locks on the backs of the vans, As the doors swung open, sixteen pairs of eyes blinked at them.

Only one pair was blue.

It was him.

“HAVOC, passing _Spenser_. I repeat, passing _Spenser._ We have him.” Hayes alerted the TOC, his voice almost breathless.

“Good copy.” Blackburn’s happiness was evident in his voice.

“Hey brother, we’ve got you.” Quinn reassured his younger brother, Spenser tried to speak but only a hoarse whimper was audible.

Sawyer slowly reached into the van, with Quinn’s help, the pair was able to pull the kid out.

The blond looked up at the team, confusion written across his face, “you’re not… you’re not real.”

Hayes’ heart broke.

“Hey buddy, of course we are,” Quinn softly calmed down his younger brother, one hand gently running through the messy blond curls as the other handed Spenser his lucky cap, “we came back.”

Spenser silently held the cap in his hands, tears starting to run down his face.

Sawyer, after finishing his assessment, turned to face Hayes. With a small smile and a nod of his head, Hayes knew that their kid was alright.

They made it, he mused, they all made it.

All six of them, seven including their hair missile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They found him! Yay!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

The corridor was mostly silent: silent enough that it was unnerving but not silent enough to truly be worried. Doctors hurried through, their pagers beeping, nurses entered and exited rooms, small sympathetic smiles on their faces as they passed everyone, a clock was loudly ticking on the wall, but nobody said a word. They were all waiting for the doctor to return, to return and tell them that the kid was fine, return and tell them that there was nothing to worry about, no hidden complications. It had been hours. They were all still waiting.

Being stateside made it easier, Quinn thought, the familiarity of the Virginia military hospital was comforting. Spenser had been cleared for flight as soon as they had arrived at the Ashgabat International Airport. So, he was in good hands, he tried to convince himself, they had made it to him in time. He was alive, he was going to be fine.

But Quinn wasn’t used to waiting, he was used to knocking down doors first and asking questions later, “where the hell is the doc?” He loudly muttered, frustration evident in his voice.

He was pacing along the corridor, fists knocking against the walls as he walked passed. None of the team tried to reassure him, he assumed they were all feeling the exact same thing. Hayes was absentmindedly running his palms across his thighs as he glared at the empty chair opposite him, Reynolds was toying with his phone, Ellis was seated in one of the chairs with her head in her hands, Perry was staring at the cup of cold coffee in his hands, and Davis was nervously tapping her feet against the floor. He, clearly, wasn’t the only one overthinking. It had been hours without any updates, Sawyer and Blackburn had gone to speak with the doctor soon after they had all arrived at the hospital, neither had returned.

Blondie had to be okay, they had brought him home.

He had to be okay.

It had been five months, five fucking months. What if they were too late, Quinn thought, panic rising, what if they were too late to save him? What if something was seriously wrong, maybe he had got shot in the crossfire and none of them noticed, maybe he had a serious infection, like sepsis. He could’ve eaten contaminated food and contracted Hepatitis A or drunk contaminated water and contracted Typhoid. He could’ve contracted Pneumococcal Disease from being in the crowded warehouse. Numerous what-ifs ran through Quinn’s mind, he didn’t know how to make them stop.

Thankfully, Perry placing a hand on his shoulder brought him out of his terrifying thoughts, “he’s going to be just fine.”

“That little shit better be. Otherwise, I’ll kill him myself.” Hayes answered without any malice, his response seemed to break some of the tension.

“Please don’t,” Blackburn said lightheartedly, drawing everyone’s attention, “the doc had another patient.” he quickly added when he was met by confused faces.

“He’s going to make a full recovery,” Sawyer spoke, everyone let out the breath they didn’t know that they were holding, “scans have shown historical fractures to three ribs, probably caused by the bomb blast, but they have since healed sufficiently. There are also small scars on his torso and legs caused by burns, it seems they were medically treated already but the doctors have checked for infections but have found none.” Sawyer paused, trying to remember everything the doctor had told him, “overall, the main concern is the dehydration and malnourishment but that can easily be treated over the course of a few weeks.”

Quinn felt like he could breathe again, their boy was fine, well, mostly fine. He was alive, that was the main thing. He was alive.

“Can we see him?” Davis quietly asked, hands toying with her trousers.

“Not all at once,” Blackburn replied, “but groups of two are allowed.”

There was an unspoken agreement that the first two would be Hayes and Quinn, Spenser’s team leader, also his unofficial-official father figure, and his best friend. So, it made sense that they were the first two.

With small goodbyes to the rest of the team, Hayes and Quinn entered Spenser’s hospital room. The room itself was fairly small, painted entirely white and contained only one bed and two plastic chairs. It was a stereotypical hospital room, Quinn hated it, the room reminded him of all the dangers of their job. Spenser laying underneath the covers with closed eyes reminded him of the dangers of their job. He looked like an actual kid, he sadly thought, he could tell that Hayes was thinking the same. They both wordlessly looked at each other, for a moment Quinn saw uncertainty in Hayes’ eyes, before turning back to face their brother. Both of his arms were connected to various wires and monitors, he looked so young, too young. Pale-skinned, dark circles underneath his eyes, fading bruises on his wrists and ankles. When they found him, he wasn’t chained, but it was possible that he had been at some point. There was also a fading bruise on his left cheek, his lip was split. They hadn’t been kind to him, they hadn’t been kind at all.

“This-” Hayes started, voice breaking with undeniable emotion, “this can never happen again. I won’t let it.”

“No, we won’t.”

Both men sat down in the plastic chairs, patiently waiting for the kid to wake. Hayes busied himself with his phone, texting someone. Quinn just smiled at his lucky cap which was placed on Spenser’s bed, his hand clutching the fabric.

“Boss,” Quinn hesitantly asked.

“What is it, Sonny?”

“What- what is going to happen now. I mean, he’s back, right?”

Hayes didn’t say anything, just sighed heavily before switching his phone off. 

“I don’t know, Sonny, I don’t know. I’ve contacted Maria Velásquez but-”

Hayes’ answer was cut short but Spenser’s decision to finally wake up. The blond clumsily moved his hands, knocking Quinn’s lucky cap onto the floor, eyes blinking rapidly. That was normal, understandable even, Quinn rationalised, he wasn’t entirely with it when they rescued him. However, when Spenser noticed that he wasn’t alone in the room, he did something that Quinn couldn’t understand. He panicked.

The heart monitor’s rapid beeping was the first sign that something was horribly wrong. The fact that Spenser tried to remove the IV drips was the second.

“Hey buddy,” Hayes spoke softly, the same tone Quinn had only seen him use on Mikey or Emma, “hey it’s all good.”

Spenser didn’t calm down. He just tried to back himself further away from the two men opposite him, tears streaming down his face. It wasn’t long before a couple of nurses entered the room, their faces held small smiles and soft features.

“Mr Spenser? I- Mr Spenser?”

One of the nurses tried to gain his attention but Spenser refused to look at anyone, head buried in his hands, soft blond curls shaking as he incoherently whimpered. Quinn didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he was meant to do. That was his brother, laying right there, and he was scared. Scared of him, scared of his own team. 

What could he do?

Hayes and Quinn locked eyes for a moment, he could see that Hayes was just as confused, as lost and afraid, and worried and powerless and exhausted. They got him back but did they, did they truly get Clay Spenser back?

“Spense? Kid?” Hayes made no attempts to move, instead, he opted to talk from where he was standing, hands resting on the back of the plastic chair. Nurses hurried around them, adjusting various fluids and monitors, Quinn didn’t understand what they were doing but he wasn’t going to question the professionals, not when Spenser’s life depended on them.

“Hey Blondie,” Quinn added, using his warmest and softest tone, although his brash Texas accent still peaked through. 

Spenser’s head slowly lifted, baby blue eyes peering up at them. Damn, Quinn thought, he could’ve cried right there, in that moment.

“You remember us?” Hayes asked, unsure of whether or not he wanted to know the answer.

“Jason,” Spenser’s voice was croaky and quiet, but it was good enough, “idiot.” he added when he turned to look at Quinn.

“Hey you little- you know what, I’m not even mad.” Quinn laughed, matching the huge smile on Hayes’ face.

The two men returned to their seats, Quinn placing his lucky cap back on the bed. Spenser’s hand immediately reached to clutch the fabric, his thumbs running across the embroidered flag. 

“I-”

“Why did you come back?”

That wasn’t a question Quinn nor Hayes thought that they would have to answer, ever.

“What do you mean, we came back because you're our brother-”

“No.”

“No?” Hayes rose from his seat, Quinn could feel the anger from where Hayes was standing, it was the same anger that he also felt.

“You didn’t have to.” Spenser’s voice was uncertain and held no confidence, he had shrunk back into the bed, eyes cast down. 

Hayes let out a short breath before sitting down, “we came back for you Clay because that’s what family does.”

Quinn eagerly nodded in agreement, he wanted to grab the pretty blond curls and make Spenser believe what they were saying. 

“I- I, just, you didn’t _have_ to.” Spenser’s voice remained quiet, almost as if he was feeling guilty. Guilty that his team had to rescue him, guilty that his team had to waste their time to pick up the loose ends, guilty that he was the weakest link. 

“That’s where you’re wrong Bambi. _We had to_. We did, we really did.” Quinn then did, gently, grab the blond curls and rub his knuckles against his younger brother’s head. The pair burst out laughing, Quinn’s laughter loud and unapologetic, Spenser’s more quiet and wheezy.

“Where's the rest of the team?” asked Spenser, after Quinn had returned to his seat. 

“Waiting,” Hayes let out a small chuckle as his answer was met by a very unimpressed face, “I’ll go sneak them in now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any comments, please share!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Sorry it took so long to write. Also, this chapter includes French, I have studied the language before but I am not fluent in any way. If there are any mistakes, please let me know!

It was surprisingly easy to sneak all of Bravo into Spenser’s hospital room, most likely it was Blackburn calling in favours but Bravo liked to believe it was their charm. The two chairs were occupied in a rotation system, at first it was suggested they compete in the serious game of rock-paper-scissors but that was quickly shut down, and Cerberus had the luxury of laying on Spenser’s bed. The room was filled with hushed laughter, crinkling of food wrappers and the thump-thump of Cerberus’ tail. 

“What else?” Quinn paused while he thought of another story to tell, five months was a long time to cover, “Oh! Have we told you about Congo-”

The room was quickly filled with pained groans from the rest of Bravo.

Spenser glanced around at his team with one brow raised, “now you have to!”

Quinn quickly launched into the story about the mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

_It was a wednesday, that wasn’t relevant, but it made the whole thing seem mediocre. Wednesdays weren’t really significant in any way; mondays were the start of the week, friday signalled the start of the weekend, and wednesday was just another day. Bravo was spun-up on a wednesday. It was a simple mission, a protect-the-important-leader-and-make-sure-they-don’t-die kind of mission. It was the kind of mission that Bravo had done multiple times before. So, everything seemed mediocre. It would’ve stayed that way if the very-important-leader-guy wasn’t such a dick._

_“I don't need this kind of protection!" Mr-very-important-leader-guy protested, his name was Richard Sulkin. It suited him._

_“I’m sure you and your team are aware that Bravo is only here for your benefit Mr Sulkin.” Blackburn answered the red-faced man and his equally as obnoxious entourage. It was clear, from Blackburn’s squared-shoulders and blank face, that this wasn’t the first complaint from the group._

_“Blackburn,” Hayes called out to their commander, his voice was monotone but the rest of Bravo knew that he wanted to pick a fight._

_“Ah. Mr Sulkin may I introduce you to Bravo team, Hayes-”_

_“Who they are is irrelevant. They are just going to draw too much attention,” the man paused before scoffing, “military in schools, how ridiculous.”_

_Cerberus let out a low growl, sharp canines bared._

_Sulkin looked at their dog with disgust, “it better not have fleas.”_

_“Speak for yourself.” Reynolds snapped back, “with the amount of grease in your hair I’m shocked it’s not crawling-”_

_Reynolds was cut off by a slap to the back of his head, delivered by Perry, who seemed annoyed that he had to do it. Blackburn just looked at Hayes, as if to say control your men but also thank you because he is annoying me too._

_The rest of the mission went similarly. The first school they visited ended in Sawyer having to disinfect a cut on Sulkin’s knee, the man tripped. That was the story Bravo was going with, Quinn wasn’t going to admit that Sulkin tripped over his foot. The second, and thankfully last school was uneventful, except for them being thrown out. It wasn’t Bravo’s fault this time, Sulkin did that all by himself. The headteacher, Marjani Idowu, was a kind and warm woman who had offered mikate and dabo kolo. Bravo liked her, however, Sulkin clearly did not._

_“This is unacceptable,” yelled the man in question, “this is a disgrace!”_

_Sulkin gestured towards the food with obvious dissatisfaction. His right-hand man, a wiry looking bloke with similar greased back hair, was taking the brunt of Sulkin’s complaints. The problem? The food wasn’t western. It was native to the Democratic Republic of Congo and other neighbouring African countries._

_Quinn glanced towards Sawyer who sat on his right, the two men had both gratefully accepted the food. Even Cerberus was sniffing at the plates with interest, one of the young school girls, who had blue beads braided into her hair, was trying to secretly sneak him some of the meat from her plate. Reynolds pretended not to notice, pretended to be too occupied by his own plate of delicious food. Hayes and Perry, however, were unable to eat peacefully as they were tasked with calming down the irrational man._

_“Sir, with all due respect,” Perry started, “we are in an African country-”_

_“Do they not know who I am?” retorted Sulkin, face blotchy and red._

_Perry glanced at Hayes with annoyance, before continuing, “sir, they are offering this food out of respect for you. It would be wise to accept this meal.”_

_Sulkin ignored Bravo, instead, the man turned to his entourage and exclaimed that they would be making an official complaint as soon as this trip was finished._

_The young girl, with blue beads, tugged on the hem of Reynold’s shirt, “pardon, qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?”_

_“Uh.” Reynolds replied, unsure of what the young girl had said._

_“L’homme manque de tact.” Quinn whispered to the girl, who just laughed and smiled._

_Reynolds turned to his friend, shocked, “how the hell do you know french?”_

_“Spenser is- was teaching me some phrases... mainly insults.”_

_The two men burst out laughing which, unfortunately, gained the attention of the rest of the room. It wasn't that they were laughing at anything in particular but the thought of Spenser was welcoming. It had been two months. Any memory of their brother was considered a good memory._

_“How dare you laugh at me!” Sulkin shouted, glaring directly at the two laughing men, “you are a disgrace to the US military. I want your names and badges!” Sulkin continued, his entourage stared at their leader, unsure of what to do._

_“Tu plaisantes!” the young girl loudly exclaimed._

_“What did you say to me, girl?”_

_Sulkin moved towards the girl but was blocked by Reynolds, Quinn and Sawyer._ _The three men knew they were meant to be protecting the man opposite them but behind them was a young girl who didn’t speak English and, to be honest, did nothing wrong. It was their job to protect those who can't be protected; right now, the angry politician was no their priority._

_“Je n’en reviens pas, tu es ridicule! Tu devrais être reconnaissant!”_

_“Amahle!” the headteacher, Marjani, called out, rushing towards her student._

_Marjani was shocked, but not surprised. Throughout the whole ordeal, she had been waiting for someone to stand-up to that revolting man. In some way, she was glad that it was one her students, the man's ego was clearly fragile as it was, what better way to destroy it completely than to have an African girl challenge him. Rich white men, she thought, so full of themselves. Whilst it was obviously clear that Bravo themselves were also white, except for one, they were clearly raised correctly. Bravo were kind despite the horrors they faced, they were gentle despite being military trained, they were honest despite dealing with dishonest people._

_“What the fuck did she say to me?” shouted Sulkin, trying to push towards the girl._

_He was furious, Quinn thought, but the girl didn’t seem afraid. She stood tall, continuing to hurl insults at him in french, some Quinn understood but most of them he didn’t._

_Marjani turned to Bravo, “leave, please leave.”_

_Hayes nodded at the woman, gratefully accepting the opportunity to end their mission early. He was getting tired of the complaints, tired of the arguments, tired of the man himself. If only, he thought, if only Spenser were here; if anyone knew how to annoy others with only words, it was Clay Spenser._

_“Passez une bonne journée!” said Amahle as she tried to hug Quinn, Reynolds and Sawyer at the same time._

_“Toi aussi, Amahle, toi aussi.” whispered Quinn._

The whole room was filled with loud, contagious laughter by the time Quinn had finished his story. The laughter didn't last long, what settled was an uncomfortable almost silence. The shuffling of feet or the ruffle of fabric. The room wasn't silent but silent enough to be strange. It was as if anyone suddenly remembered that they were in a hospital room, that someone almost died, technically did die but wasn't actually dead but everyone thought they were dead.

“Guys?” the blond said, suddenly unsure.

“These past few months shouldn't've happened-”

“Jase-”

“Let me finish, please,” Hayes took a long breath before continuing, “we should’ve looked harder, should’ve stayed until we knew for certain, right? There wasn’t a body, that meant something. You were alive, for god’s sake, you were alive. We never leave a man behind, but we did. We left you behind.”

The atmosphere in the room grew colder, but it was words that needed to be said, needed to be shared, needed to exist outside of their minds.

“I was drunk at the funeral,” Quinn quietly admitted, “I didn’t uh, I didn’t cope well.”

“I had nightmares for weeks.” said Perry.

"So did I." Sawyer added.

“I almost punched your father.” Reynolds huffed out a humourless laugh.

Spenser also laughed, but a genuine one. Reynolds smiled at his brother. The man deserved it, thought Reynolds, he almost regretted not going through with it. 

“It’s not your fault, guys, none of you could’ve done anything differently-”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” repeated Hayes, “we just accepted the fact that you were gone. For five months. Five. months.”

“No.”

“What?” Hayes questioned, he knew that Spenser would disagree but it was strange hearing his own words used against him.

“I said no. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done. There was a bomb, a fucking bomb. None of us knew that beforehand. None of us. What happened, happened. Now, tell me why Brock almost punched my dad?”

Bravo collectively breathed a sigh of relief, they had their boy back and he didn’t blame them. All their fears, all their worries and concerns melted away. Everyone was good, everyone was safe. Bravo was whole again.

_pardon, qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?_ = excuse me, what happened?

 _L’homme manque de tact_ = The man is tactless

 _Tu plaisantes!_ = You’re kidding!

 _Je n’en reviens pas, tu es ridicule! Tu devrais être reconnaissant!_ = I can’t believe it, you’re ridiculous! You should be grateful!

 _Passez une bonne journée!_ = Have a lovely day!

 _Toi aussi... toi aussi_ = And you… and you

(Thank you so much to hailie for helping me with the translation!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bravo is whole again. All the boys are together!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... It has almost been a month since I have last posted. Due to the current crazy situation of the world, my mental health has taken quite a hit. I have decided to focus on that rather than force myself to complete a work. But, I'm back, so, here's the last chapter of Five Months!

_Quinn wouldn’t stop complaining, there was sand, there was sand everywhere. There was sand in his boots. There was so much sand-_

_He was on the ground, ears ringing, head pounding. He could feel the sand, in his eyes, in his mouth, all around him._

_He was on the ground. Why was he on the ground?_

_Everything hurt, he could feel something pinning down his legs, could feel blood dripping down his face, could feel his hands shaking, could feel his body gasping for air._

_He could smell smoke, it was thick._

_He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-_

_When he woke, there was shouting. It sounded distorted, he could barely hear anything, the ringing in his ears was too loud. He tried shouting back but no sound came out, his lungs burned and his throat tightened. He couldn’t speak._

_Please, his mind cried, please help me. Help me. Help-_

“Bambi,” Quinn’s voice was soft and calming, words rarely associated with the brash man, “Clay, man you’re okay, you’re home.”

It didn’t feel like home. It didn’t feel like _home_. He was home, technically, he knew that, of course he knew that, but sometimes he forgot. Sometimes it was like he was back in that cage, trapped, captured, a prisoner. Sometimes it was like he was never rescued. He had been, rescued, but in the darkness of the night, his mind couldn’t remember.

“Clay?”

“Yeah man, I’m fine.”

“I-”

“I’m fine.” Spenser spat harshly, anger hiding his embarrassment.

Quinn moved from where he was standing in the doorway, dropping himself onto Spenser’s bed. There was no way he was dropping the conversation, he thought, not when his brother was clearly hurting. Not when he could help; he never expected to see Clay again, let alone talk to him, he wasn't about to let Clay suffer in silence. When the kid had first joined Bravo, Hayes told him to keep an eye on their youngest team member. That's what he was going to do.

“No, you’re not. Talk to me, Spense.”

If only it was that easy, Spenser thought, if only it was that easy to just talk. he couldn’t. Not to them, not to his brothers, not to anyone, not even himself. If he ignored it then it wouldn’t exist, right? If he ignored it then everything would be fine. He was meant to be fine. There were no scars, no broken bones, no internal or external damage, nothing serious. Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was all in his head. He just had to get over that, right? Compartmentalise it, compartmentalise everything. That was his training, his military training, that was what he was meant to do. _So, why the fuck wasn’t it working._

“I’m-”

“If you say fine I’ll punch you in the face.”

Screw training, Spenser thought bitterly, what good was it doing? Screw training, screw everything. Might as well bite the bullet.

“I’m falling apart, Sonny.”

“Oh,” Quinn was quiet for a few moments, his face softening, not expecting the blunt honesty from the blond, “you want to talk now?”

“Had a nightmare. Again. It was of the mission. I- I remember the sand. I remember the dust, the smoke. They feel so real, like it’s happening all over again. Like I'm actually back there, back in that house. I can barely tell it's a nightmare it feels so real.”

Quinn slowly reached out towards Spenser, interlinking their hands, “you’re not the only one who had nightmares. We all got them, at one point or another, when a mission went bad. Me, Jason, Ray, Brock, and Trent. Hell even Blackburn and Davis, Ellis too. Trent told me that it was our brain's way of coping with everything. Bit of a shit method if you ask me.”

Spenser replied with a small grunt, hands pulling a blue blanket over the pair.

“Ray had them bad," Quinn continued, fiddling with the stitching on a pillow, "didn’t tell us about them either, not until Trent called him out on it. Jase wouldn’t talk to anyone. Neither would Brock. Trent started getting anxious about the smallest cuts we had. I tried drinking, a lot. Lisa helped me through it though, once I told her. Jase went to go see this therapist-”

“ _Jason_ went to therapy?”

“Yeah. Big boss man knew he couldn’t deal with everything on his own. You can’t either.”

Spenser thought about what Sonny had said, _he couldn't deal with everything on his own._ Military men and women didn't exactly talk about their feelings, just stored their thoughts and emotions away. But there was one question which plagued Spenser's thoughts, one question that never seemed to go away, never seemed to disappear no matter how hard he tried.

Spenser cleared his throat, and asked the question, "you guys don't blame me, right?"

“Fucking christ Clay! Where’d you get that idea?”

“I should’ve noticed the bomb. Should've radioed it in. Everyone could’ve died Sonny! We could’ve all died. Because- because of me. Because I wasn’t a good enough operator. Because I failed. I failed, Sonny, I could’ve got my brothers killed. I could've gotten you all killed because I didn't notice a bomb. What kind of tier one operator misses that?”

Quinn looked at him with utter disbelief, “now lookie here young grasshopper, there’s no way you could’ve known. We didn’t have Cerb. We didn’t have the full intel. This isn’t on you. If anything, this is on us.”

“What! No-”

“We left you behind. You were alive and we left you behind.”

“You had orders.”

“Fuck orders. We never leave a brother behind.”

“It was a bomb-”

“Exactly. So, how is it your fault!”

“Because.”

“Because what.”

“Just because.”

“Boys,” both men’s heads turned towards the doorway where Davis rested her body weight against the frame, “when you’re done blaming each other, come get some tea.”

Davis left the room as soon as she had entered it. Quinn and Spenser glanced at each other without speaking, both realising the argument was getting them nowhere.

“Uh,” Quinn chuckled, rising from where he was perched on the bed “sorry man, should've shouted at you.”

"Don't worry," Spenser replied, a fond smile on his face, "I missed your constant complaining."

The two men burst out laughing, the hostile atmosphere in the room quickly dissolving. It didn't matter, Quinn thought, it didn't matter about who was to blame. It didn't matter because their boy was home, safe. They had gotten their boy back, nothing else really mattered.

Before he could reach the door, Spenser called out, “in the morning, could you get Jase to text me the name of that therapist.”

“Yeah, buddy. I will.”

"Also, you and Davis..."

"Shut up Spenser."

In the morning, Spenser would notice bland off-white walls and the dark tiles. He would notice various potted plants that were next to the oak chairs which lined the walls, the bright yellow cushions, the low hum of the building had drifted into white noise. Hayes would tell him that nothing had changed in eight months, and he would feel a weird sense of comfort in that statement.

Maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.  
> Man, it has been amazing writing this work. It is the first piece of content that I have published and I can't begin to explain what all of your support means to me. Thank you for all the comments, the kudos, and the reads. Whilst this is my first work, it certainly won't be my last.


End file.
